


Comfort

by literallyjustanerd



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallyjustanerd/pseuds/literallyjustanerd
Summary: A laidback and pretty much purely fluffy piece with my two favourite boys.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Hope you guys enjoy this piece, I really just wrote it on a whim because I was procrastinating my uni work. I'm keen to extend it though, I'd really like to make it an extended fic that could include some drama or maybe even a bit of smut! 
> 
> Let me know what you think and whether you have any ideas for what you'd like to see in future.  
> Have an awesome day :)

            “So, where am I sitting at the wedding reception?”  
The voice is sing-song and sarcastic, and Warren rolls his eyes at a question so obviously intended to provoke him.  
“Shut up, Kitty,” he shoots back, and the girl laughs in response with the teammates that had joined them in the living room after finishing up in the Danger Room.  
“What? You’ve been together, like, a month,” Kitty continues. “That’s longer than you’ve dated anyone.”  
“She’s not wrong,” Jean chimes in, a dry smirk on her face that somehow sparks both anger and embarrassment in Warren. “I don’t even have to read your mind to see that you’re totally into him.” Before Warren can formulate a suitably snappy retort, he catches two glinting yellow eyes emerging from the hallway, and the words dry up in his throat. He has come to expect and even to welcome the flutter in his chest he feels when he sees Kurt’s face, his pitch-dark hair and ever-present smile, though it still throws him off. The rest of their little group greets Kurt and makes space for him on one of the living room couches, shifting seamlessly to another topic of conversation and leaving Warren to try desperately to catch up and hope that nobody registered the blush on his face. 

            Hours pass, and evening shifts slowly into night. One by one, Kurt watches the group drift off to bed, though he stays put on the sofa. He does this often, enjoying the peace the night gives him, the tranquillity. The darkness is a comfort to him, and always has been, providing both refuge and freedom. He stays in the large, ornate living room of the mansion long into the night, flipping through TV channels and stoking the fire for a little warmth. Every now and then, another face will join him for a minute or two, those who find themselves unable to sleep or get up for a glass of water. But by the early hours of the morning, he settles into the couch and lets his eyes fall shut, nestled in a ball on the suede three-seater with his tail curled around himself. The sound of his breath, soft and steady against the pillow and the only sound to be heard in the quiet of the night, soothes him to sleep within minutes. 

            It isn’t uncommon for Warren to be unable to sleep through the night. His thoughts often keep him up, and barring all else, rolling over to lie on his wing at an awkward angle never failed to wake him. Before he and Kurt had gotten together, he would have sworn that these were the only reasons he spent so many nights wandering the halls of the mansion. Now, however? He openly admits to himself that the chance of running into his tentative boyfriend is a not-insignificant contributor to why he is up now, hands balled in his pockets against the midnight chill and roaming from room to room in the dark. The night creates a strange new world around him, one that feels smaller, lonelier, freer. One where the act of raising his hand and sweeping his hair across his forehead does not require careful preplanning and consideration of how each person present might react. One where he is allowed to smile as brightly as he likes when he sees a small silhouette on the sofa, barely visible in the dim. Though just as soon as he feels this contentment, it is replaced by concern when he comes close enough to see that Kurt’s sleep is not a peaceful one. He twitches and tenses, face contorting with the distress of whatever danger he is facing in his mind. Now and then he hears small, sharp breaths, and high-pitched groans that accent the tossing and turning. Warren crouches down in front of the young man, hesitant to disturb him but with a deep urge to ease his discomfort.

            Presently, he lifts one hand and lays it on Kurt’s cheek, drawing a sudden gasp and an instinctual jerk backward.  
“It’s okay,” Warren murmurs. “Just a dream.” Kurt swallows hard, trying his best to steady the pounding in his chest and emptiness in his lungs. Warren’s face, and his hand running from pointed ear to sharp chin is a comfort, and eventually he forces himself to sit up.  
“Better?”  
Kurt nods in affirmation.  
“Good.”  
He sits up on the couch, Warren still crouched in front of him. Once he allows himself to notice that Warren is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, he finds himself unable to _stop_ noticing it, and the sight of a broad, toned and bare chest does nothing to help his elevated heart rate. Unaware of the thoughts in his boyfriend’s head, Warren sits beside Kurt on the couch and lays an arm around his shoulders, wings spreading from their place against his back to form a small, somewhat enclosed area that soothes Kurt as he allows himself to lean into Warren’s side. 

            “You wanna talk about it?”  
Kurt says nothing, still unsure if he can speak without his words coming out shaky and tearful. Instead, he pulls his knees to his chest, tail wrapping around his ankles, and closes his eyes for a time. He focuses on the rhythmic rise and fall of Warren’s chest, the warmth that emanates from him. Silent minutes pass, and Warren knows better than to prompt Kurt any further. There is something fulfilling about sitting with him, about being the protector and the comforter. If only he could show this image to himself six months ago, to prove to the angsty, emotionally stunted jerk he used to be that things did get better. That he could do it right. He could not only be this open and intimate, but be the instigator of such a moment, take charge of providing the solace needed by those he cared for. Sometime into the silence, and into his own thoughts, Kurt finds himself ready to speak.  
“I was a child again,” he began, voice just barely audible above his breath. “Back in Germany. Back with the circus.”  
Warren nods, sitting up straighter as Kurt does the same. Kurt opens his mouth to continue, but the words don’t come easy, and Warren steps in to provide some guidance.  
“What was happening?” he asks gently, and Kurt seems grateful to have a simple question to answer. Despite this, his hands still clench into fists as he begins to recount what he has just escaped from.  
“I was outside the area we had set up our camp. I was trying to get back in, but every way I went, someone saw me.”  
“They came after you?” Warren asks delicately. Kurt nods, eyes squeezing shut for a long moment.  
“Pitchforks, torches, the whole show.”  
“And you couldn’t teleport away from them?”  
“I never can. Not in those dreams.” 

            It takes Warren a long moment to realise the implications of Kurt’s response, and when he does, it brings a sinking feeling to his stomach. He looks so frightened, and Warren can see traces of the child Kurt is in his dream. He resembles a cornered animal, scared and trying to shrink away into himself.  
“Kurt… how often do you have these dreams?”  
A look comes to Kurt’s face like a child caught in a lie, and he gives a half-hearted shrug, eyes skirting away from the man beside him.  
“Every now and then.”  
“Kurt.”  
A sigh escapes deep blue lips, but no further explanation is given. Warren slides his hand across Kurt’s lap and laces their fingers together.  
“I want to know what happened to you back then,” he ventures. “I’d like you to tell me.”  
Kurt looks up at him, fragile and uncertain. In truth, he does want to share his experiences. He craves the relief that would come from having someone else know the memories that come to him more often that he likes to admit. But the act of speaking them out loud has always stopped him: he is not fond of causing others to worry, and the idea of squeezing the words out of a tight and tearful throat is awful in itself. But this is Warren. This is different. He swallows down his fear and breathes deeply, and shakes his head in a timid nod.

            By the time Warren’s questions have dried up and Kurt’s desire to share has been sated, almost an entire hour has passed. By now, Warren is reclined on the sofa with Kurt lying on his back against his boyfriend’s chest. It isn’t the most comfortable position for the blond man, and Warren’s wings have long since begun to go numb, but he doesn’t care.  
“I know everyone says that my mutation makes me special, and I believe it most of the time,” Kurt says in a sigh. “It’s just hard when I’m in public. In my head I still hear them calling me ‘monster’ and ‘demon.’” Warren’s chest falls beneath him, and he nods his understanding.  
“I know. It’s never going to be easy. Especially for mutants like us. We can’t hide what we are. It’s all great to say that we shouldn’t have to hide, but there’s no denying that it makes day-to-day life easier.”  
“Yeah… But at least your mutation makes you beautiful.” Kurt sits up as he says this, turning to lie on his stomach against that broad, firm, bare chest. “Well. More beautiful than you already were.”  
A frown comes to Warren’s face.  
“What do you mean?” he asks, and Kurt gives a warm smile. He reaches one three-fingered hand up to cup Warren’s cheek, eyes glinting. Kurt’s eyes have always astounded Warren: the way they seem to glow even in the faintest of light.  
“You know your wings are stunning,” he says, voice tinged with laughter. “They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen. They’re magnificent.”  
“You are, too,” Warren interjects, sitting up slightly in his concern. “You know that, right? You amaze me every day.”  
Kurt’s smile turns softer, bashful.  
“Not in the way I’m talking about.” 

            “You don’t know that,” Warren insists. “Kurt, you’re _beautiful._ Most days I struggle to keep myself from just staring at you instead of paying attention to anything else.”  
Struck dumb by Warren’s words, Kurt doesn’t know quite how to respond. A cocktail of emotions churn inside him, embarrassment, gratitude, joy, and a number of others he cannot begin to name. He knows he stands no chance of giving a good enough reply, and so shifts himself upward against Warren’s chest until they are close enough for him to press his lips to Warren’s. The pressure is welcomed and returned, and within moments the two have their arms around each other. Whether consciously or subconsciously, Kurt’s tail slinks up and around Warren’s leg, needy and possessive as it always seems to be. A shiver runs down Warren’s spine as he feels Kurt’s fingertips dance across the skin at the nape of his neck, and he feels Kurt smile devilishly under the kiss. And when the two part for air and Warren opens his eyes, they are no longer in the living room but in Kurt’s bedroom, laid out on the bed.  
“Thought you might have been getting a little uncomfortable on the couch,” Kurt explains with a sheepish grin. “We needed a more comfortable place to sleep.” Warren chuckles, and places a kiss on Kurt’s forehead before repositioning himself to lie on his stomach – a much more comfortable position for his aching wings. Kurt slots himself in underneath one outstretched wing, feeling an instant comfort from the cover.

            “Goodnight, handsome,” he says with a grin. Warren nudges him affectionately, his forehead pressed against Kurt’s.  
“Night, beautiful.”  
Kurt revels in the feeling of being so close to Warren until the moment he is lost to sleep. And this time, when his eyes finally fall shut, he is left at peace until the morning.


End file.
